Why on earth would the Professor want to talk to him, of all people? Terrified no context certain he was somehow in trouble already. Albus Dumbledore? Here? Why? Did this mean something was wrong? Had he done something? He was 11 again, standing in the Headmaster’s grand office, trembling head to toe as he spoke with him before his first term. He used this familiar chore to collect his whirling and clamoring mind. Using this homey momentum, he launched himself at the restroom announcing, “I’ll put on some tea.” Remus made as if to tidy, but most of his meager possessions were already stowed away in the suitcase at the foot of his bed. It no longer seemed second nature to just reach for a wand.īut Dumbledore had already sat himself down and proceeded to cross his legs, hands woven together around his knee and look quite comfortable. Too much time scraping by in the Muggle world had caused his undercover persona to become a little too comfortable. I’m afraid it’s the only one I’ve-unless you would rather I draw one up,” his hand clamped upon his wand pocket as he was suddenly seized by the embarrassingly startling remembrance that he was a wizard, for God’s sake, and could do things like that. He wouldn’t want to put the onus of social niceties on Dumbledore to try to scrounge up redeeming features.Īs graciously as he could, he gestured to the foot of his tidy, if threadbare, bed. Even so, he adamantly stifled the urge to apologize or explain such accommodations. The ground down carpet with an almost offensively indeterminable color that could range anywhere from puce to pea green, depending on the lighting and humidity. He was suddenly intensely aware of the vague musty smell that had permeated this place since before his occupation, the water stains on the ceiling, the peeling wallpaper and shoddy windows. “Hello, Remus,” he said, still smiling at him and Remus found his footing, precarious though it was, and quickly invited him inside. Just the irrationality of a wizard of his stature coexisting with the scent of burnt bacon from down the hall was mind-boggling. “Professor!” he gasped, feeling as if just him standing there in his emerald robes and hat had just stunned all the air out of his chest. Albus Dumbledore was standing in the dingy hallway of his flat, beaming down at him over his crooked nose. He pressed a hand to his jacket pocket where his wand was stowed away for reassurance as he opened the door-and choked on his greeting. Perhaps they would go away.Īgain, a knock. Landlord, confused vagrant, wrong address? Nobody visited him-there was nobody left to visit him. He straightened, warily, and eyed the door. Lupin was neatly folding the slacks of a-sadly- no longer needed clerk uniform for a local Muggle supermarket when there was a knock on the door. Stats: Published: Updated: Words: 79294 Chapters: 38/? Comments: 223 Kudos: 240 Bookmarks: 46 Hits: 5272
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